The Kings of New York
by Dreamless-Mermaid
Summary: Based loosely off the song, King of New York, each newsie will get the thing they desire most. Mush and his laces, Les and the mezzanine seat, and yes even Spot will get his porcelain tub.
1. Matchin' Laces

The Kings of New York

Chapter 1: Matchin' Laces

Dreamless-Mermaid

**AN: Hi guys! I've been dwelling on this idea for some time and I'm finally putting it into action. It's not the most original title but it works. Not sure if I'll be able to keep up with it but I will definitely do my best. Anyway, this whole story will revolve around the song King of New York and what each boy wishes for. Obviously this is set after the strike. New characters will be introduced and a few will be familiar to those of you that have read my stories before. Hope you enjoy it. Reviews will make me oh so happy :D**

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_A pair of new shoes with matchin' laces…_

Mush was on a roll. It was only two o'clock in the afternoon and he was halfway through his share of papers. He and Blink finally found a good selling spot after days of searching for a new one. Their previous place in the park had been taken over by a rowdy group of ten year olds. The two older boys, being a bit cocky and arrogant about it, figured they could get the kids to leave with a few shoves here, some insults there. So they were surprised when the younger newsies fought back. One of them even popped Blink real nice in his good eye, as if he couldn't see well enough already.

They staked out the avenues that had the most traffic flow but found that too many of their friends had already claimed them. They wandered past office buildings, restaurants, even playing with the idea of a different area of the park. In the end it was Blink's girl Bella that gave them the tip to sell near the wealthier neighborhoods. She said there were plenty of businessmen that complained they had to be all the way downtown just to buy a paper. This morning the two boys woke up extra early to get ready before the others so they could make it to the distribution center to buy their papers first. They wanted to be sure to catch potential customers on their way into the big city to start their day. As it turns out, Bella's advice was dead on. Before noon both boys were out of papers and were now roaming the neighborhood with the afternoon edition. It might have helped that Blink had a black eye _and _an eye patch.

Mush suddenly lurched forward, the remainder of his newspapers flying out of his hands.

"Whoa!" Blink exclaimed, catching his friend's arm before he hit the pavement. "You okay?"

"What tha-" Mush grumbled. He glanced down to see the laces on his right shoe were somehow much longer then the left ones. "Yeah I'm fine. What tha hell happened ta me shoes?" The laces were what tripped him up. Mush bent down into a squat to check out the shoes. The toes were extremely scuffed, the soles were about to come off, and the laces were frayed from use. He sighed and began gathering up the scattered papers, Blink bending to help. "I need new shoes."

"I bet one of those guttah rat kids made it worse too." Blink said. He remembered seeing one of them stomp hard on Mush's foot.

"Yeah," Mush sighed again. He straightened up once he collected all of the papers, nodding his thanks and smiling at Blink. "But hey, if it weren't for them we nevah woulda run into Bella and she nevah woulda told us about this place."

Blink laughed. "That's true. Ain't she a peach?"

"Tha peachiest."

They continued their leisure walk down the street, enjoying their time in the sun. Mush had known for a long time that he was in desperate need of a new pair of shoes but today just seemed to take the cake. He tried laughing it away but deep down he was worried. It was a miracle he even owned _this_ pair. He knew he should put away some money every chance he got but the need to eat and maintain a roof over his head were his top priorities. Buying shoes were a luxury he couldn't, and would never, afford.

They just passed one of the largest houses on the block when Mush did a double take. A girl was standing on the stoop holding a large parcel in her hands. The door opened and an older woman smiled widely, took the parcel and in exchange handed the girl an envelope. They made small talk, the young girl laughed and his heart sped up at the familiarity of it. Finally, the door closed and she turned to walk down the lawn, stuffing the envelope into a small brown sack.

"Ain't that Laces?" Blink said.

Mush smiled widely. "Yeah. Hey, Laces!"

The girl looked up at the call of her name. She smiled when she saw the boys on the street. "Oh hi, Mush! Hi, Blink!" She waved, starting to jog toward them. Mush couldn't contain his wide smile as she neared them and his stomach was turning over and over. Her long, curly black hair flowed behind her and when she finally came to a stop beside them, the green in her eyes sparkled as bright as the sun. At least, this was the way Mush always saw her in his mind.

"Whatcha doin' on this side of town?" Blink inquired.

"Mrs. Rockefeller is a client of ours." Laces pointed to the mansion behind her.

"Ah, so business is boomin'?" Mush said.

"Oh gosh like you wouldn't believe!" Laces gushed. "In the past month we've had five more clients on our books. Five wealthy clients, I should say."

"I bet that's keepin' your father busy." Mush said.

Laces nodded. "I hardly see him anymore except when I go back and forth to the apartment for more packages."

"Don't he evah take a break?" Blink said.

"Oh yes, twice a week, but even then I know he's still thinking about those damn shoes." She laughed.

Laces and her father ran a shoe repair business out of their one room apartment on the upper East side. He would take the orders, repair them, and Laces would travel around the city to deliver them to their respectful owners. Once the client was satisfied with the work, they would pay her by putting the money in an envelope, which she in turn stuffed into her sack. Sometimes Laces delivered as many as six pairs a day, hence why she carried the bag. Other times she brought back one pair, then when she got home, turn around and go right back out because her father finished a second pair. Most of their clients had been with them since the start of the business and were very loyal to them. So if Laces delivered their shoes, they might end up sending her home with a torn shirt or a badly stained dress or other items the client themselves did not have time to mend. Laces loved her job but it wasn't always easy. The first time Mush met her was, incidentally, her very first day two years ago. She had to deliver a very nice pair of heels to an upper class lady in time for a party she was attending that evening. She cried to Mush that she had been wandering the streets for hours and nobody would stop to help or give her directions. She babbled how late it was getting and she was sure she would displease her father and end up loosing the client. Mush took pity on her and together they figured out where she needed to go. He explained what he did for a living, how he knew the city like the back of his hand. After they finally found the address thirty minutes later, she came back elated. The client was happy, she had gotten paid, and she'd gained a new friend. Since then Mush bequeathed her the nickname Laces and it stuck like glue.

The two of them saw each other frequently on the streets, him selling and her delivering. She became fast friends with the other boys too. Mr. Kloppman even became a client.

Mush didn't know when he'd fallen in love with her. It could have been any number of times they were together. It could have been that time they got caught in the rain and had to run under an awning and they laughed at each other's wet hair and clothes. Or the time at her sixteenth birthday party in Central Park when she arrived in a brand new dress that matched her eyes. Or maybe it had been the countless occasions he gazed at her as she lifted her face toward the sun, eyes closed, breathing in deeply on a warm spring or summer day.

But of course she didn't know this, probably would never know this.

"So what's on the agenda today fellas?" Laces said, slipping herself between them and hanging her arms on their shoulders. "I'm free the rest of the day. What's say we grab some food? My treat."

Just the mere touch of her set his nerves on end. "I nevah turn down free food." Mush said.

Blink shrugged. "I guess we had a pretty good haul today huh, Mush? We can spare an afternoon." They began walking out of the neighborhood and toward their city.

"Did you boys have a good day?"

"The best! Bella told us we should start sellin' 'round here 'cause of all them rich men goin' off ta work." Mush said enthusiastically. He patted his pocket which jangled noisily.

Laces pursed her lips. "Okay, if you two are so rich, why are you makin' me buy lunch?"

"We ain't makin' you do nothin'." Blink said indignantly.

"Yeah, you offered." Mush grabbed her hip lightly where he knew she was ticklish. She laughed loudly once and jerked away which made her crash into Blink. Mush smiled.

"Stop that! You know I hate it!" She giggled. "Onward to Tibby's!"

"Onward to Tibby's!" Blink and Mush repeated. Laces grabbed Mush's hand and pulled him hard in the direction of the restaurant. He laughed, looked back at his best friend, who answered with a smirk.

They were halfway there now. Along the way they ran into Jack, David, and Racetrack and she demanded they come along, even if they weren't hungry. Laces had stopped pulling Mush but she never took back her hand. Every boy looked pointedly at their joined hands, then silently raised an eyebrow at Mush who could not respond because even he didn't know what was going on. Laces had never done this before and it was very much confusing him.

The group passed by a large department store window. The display was full of the latest fashions, toys, and small furniture pieces. One thing in particular caught Mush's eye and it was a beautiful pair of leather shoes. He stopped walking to gaze at them admiringly. Laces noticed the sudden pull and looked back to see Mush in front of the window. She walked back to him and followed his stare. They were black, a fine shape, and small black laces were tied into neat bows.

"Wow, those are nice." Laces said appreciatively.

"They sure are." Mush responded wistfully.

"My father could never make shoes as nice looking at those but I know he could mend them to be pretty close."

"I wish I could afford them." He leaned his forehead on the glass.

"Why? What's wrong with yours?"

He merely pointed down. She squinted to see the imperfections: the longer laces on the right one, the scuff marks, all of the things that made Mush hate them.

"Oh, I see."

"The color of tha laces even match." Mush whined. He was right, because comparing them to his own he had black laces on brown shoes.

"Well, you made a good bit of money today. So can't you just save up for them?" She voiced exactly what he'd been contemplating earlier.

"Yeah but I have this primal need to eat and sleep and it costs money to be at tha boardin' house and to buy me any scrap of food I can get. I ain't got a nice home, like you." Mush said a little bitterly.

"Oh gee I'm so sorry to be born to such a privileged life. It's really great sleeping in a room that has the bathroom _and_ kitchen in the bedroom," she shot back sarcastically, "Not to mention the pile of shoes that I trip over every single day. Other than that it's grand."

"Trade ya."

"Gladly."

They pointedly avoided looking at each other. He knew what her living situation was like but at least she didn't have to pay everyday to live there. On the other hand he was very grateful of the privacy he could snag in the morning if he was quick enough.

She sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Sometimes I get so fed up with the apartment that I wish I could live with you."

"With me?" Mush said.

"Well, I mean, you and of course everyone else," she said nervously. "Not _just_ you. Not _specifically_ you. Not you and I _together_…"

"You're ramblin', Laces." Mush smiled.

"I know, which is why I'm shutting my mouth now," she grinned sheepishly. "Anyway, I think we've been left behind. Are you still hungry?"

"Absolutely. Lead tha way." Mush's insides were twisting as he offered his hand to her. She blushed lightly and took it and started to pull them away again. Mush couldn't believe his luck. In one day he'd found the perfect selling spot, made quite a decent amount of money, and noticed a significant change in Laces toward him. Life was getting better, with or without new shoes.

* * *

A few days passed and since then Mush discovered that he'd been seeing more and more of Laces than ever. She was there in the morning, in the evening, with Bella and Blink, at the house hanging around the others. Kloppman kept her pretty busy running errands as his eyesight wasn't the greatest anymore. Joey, Racetrack's girlfriend, Laces, and Bella liked to have their own girls night when the boys were in the foyer playing poker. Every once in a while Mush would catch Laces staring at him, then quickly look away. It happened so often that Skittery quietly told Mush to ask her out already and to stop boring everyone with their flirting.

On a particularly sunny morning, Mush clambered down the stairs to wait for Blink so they could hit up their spot. Laces was in the entrance hall with Kloppman, trading items for her payment. Her face lit up when she saw him.

"Good morning!"

"You too! What brings you by so early? Missed me already?" Mush teased. That earned him a big pink blush. Kloppman chuckled, shook his head, and walked away, letting the kids be.

"I actually have a lot of errands today. Saturdays are usually pretty busy," she chewed on her bottom lip, a habit that Mush picked up on early in their friendship. "Also, I came here first hoping to catch you before you left."

"Yeah? Why's that?" He stepped closer to her, so close he could smell the clean scent of her soap coming from her hair, her body. He didn't know why but he felt compelled to be braver than usual. Maybe because they were alone, a rare occurrence nowadays.

Her breath hitched. "Because I-I have something to give you later."

He pouted. "Why not now?"

She laughed. "I'm already late, plus the anticipation will kill you."

"You know my weak points, darn you." He shook a mocking fist at her.

"I promise it'll be worth it." She smiled dazzlingly. "Meet me at three o'clock in front of that window we were looking at last week."

"At that department store?" She nodded. "Hm. This has fishy written all ovah it."

"Just trust me."

"I always do."

They stared at each other for a second more before saying her goodbye and turning to leave. Before she opened the door, he reached out and grabbed her hand. "Wait." _Wait? For what?_ He felt the pulse in her wrist jump at his touch. He rubbed a thumb there ever so lightly, not taking his eyes off of her. "I…I think…"

"Yes?"

"I…Nevahmind. I'll see ya, yeah?" He reluctantly released her wrist.

"Yeah. Three o'clock, don't forget." She smiled slightly.

"I won't." With that, she left. What just happened? What had he been about to say?

"You were _almost_ there!" He heard Blink's shout and groan from behind him. Mush whipped around. Blink was coming down the stairs.

"How long have you been up there?"

"Long enough to tell you that you_ almost had it_!"

"I know! I think…" Mush said, clutching his forehead. "I ain't sure what I was doin', really. I wanna tell her but I'm so scared of losin' her."

"You ain't gonna lose her, if anythin' she'll respond tenfold," Blink patted his friend on the shoulder. "Look, I learned pretty quick wit Bella. In situations like these, don't think, just do."

"You're right, I know you're right. I'm just a chicken, that's all." Mush heaved a big sigh. Why couldn't he just come out and tell her how he felt? They were both adults, perfectly capable of handling it. It's possible that there was a piece in him, a piece so small he didn't recognize it until now, that he was terrified she didn't feel the same way. No matter how many times his friends told him that she reciprocated, he could never really be sure of himself.

So he and Blink started their day. Everything was fine until one man accused Mush of short changing him, so Mush had to give him back three extra pennies. Another man yelled at both boys for giving him the wrong paper with the wrong date and the wrong articles. The boys argued with him until there was no reasoning with the old man, so they both scampered off to another part of the neighborhood. Blink declared the man senile. One of Mush's last customer's for the afternoon edition actually came back from that morning and haughtily proclaimed he was done with the paper and he wanted a refund.

"Oh God, is the day ovah yet?" Blink whined as they dragged themselves back into town.

"At least you sold all your papes. I still got one left. One lousy, measly little-" This time Mush tripped and fell down hard on his knees. He heard Blink shouting, asking if he was okay, what happened. A fire began burning inside Mush. Why had everything suddenly gone wrong in one day? Why did it have to happen _today_ of all days? "These shoes."

"What?" Blink said.

"These god dammed, good for nothin' _shoes_ is what made me fall!" Mush shouted angrily. He moved himself into a sitting position and began to furiously unlace his shoes. One after the other he pulled the strings from the small holes and threw them into the alley behind them. "No laces? So be it! I'm done. I can't do nothin' right today! I can't seem to keep me money, me only pair of shoes are useless, and I can't tell tha girl I'm in love wit that I'm in love wit her!" He fumed, standing up quickly.

"Mush, it'll be okay. Don't ya have somewhere ya need to be?" Blink said calmly. Mush suddenly went from seething to neutral in five seconds as he remembered that yes, he had to meet Laces.

"What time is it?"

"Five ta three accordin' to me watch-"

Without saying a word, Mush started running. He pushed himself as hard and as fast as he could toward the department store. Maybe if he could make it in time, he would muster up the courage to finally say to Laces what he'd been wanting to say for almost two years. Finally spotting the familiar window display on the corner he put on a last burst of speed, weaving through the crowd, seeing her standing nervously and holding a package.

"Hi!" Mush said when he stopped in front of her. He breathed in and out heavily.

"Hi," she looked at him quizzically. "Did you run all the way here?"

"Yeah…I thought…I was gonna…be late." He panted and leaned down to put his hands on his thighs.

"You know it's only two-thirty, right?" Laces said amusingly.

Mush's head snapped up. "What?"

"One of our clients lives right around the corner from here and I got done early so I thought I'd wait a little while for you."

"That bastard!"

"What?"

Mush laughed between breaths. "Nevahmind. I'm here now, so what didja wanna give me?"

Laces smiled. "Well, I was thinking about you and your shoe situation. It seems this is coming at the perfect time because I notice the laces are gone."

Mush grinned. "Yeah, it's been a…long day."

"Anyway, sometimes Father has a few spares around the apartment that people have sent back to us for unknown reasons. They're in perfectly good condition but they're just unwanted. Usually we donate them but I begged and pleaded to let me take a pair. And well…" she held out the box before her, "these are for you."

At first Mush didn't know what to say. It didn't connect right away in his brain. "Wait…you…what?"

"I told my father what you were wanting and he said to of course please take them and give them a good home. I'm positive I have the right size, Blink gave me your measurements."

"You're givin' me shoes? Just like that? For free?"

She nodded. "I know they're not like those," she motioned with her head to the ones in the window, "but they're a lot better than the ones you're currently wearing."

Mush chuckled. "That's for sure." He gratefully took the box and opened it up. Inside was the most beautiful pair of brown shoes he'd ever seen. No scuff marks, no holes at the heel, the soles were in tact, and to make them perfect, they came complete with- "Matchin' laces." He whispered.

"I made sure. Brown on brown. Same length and everything."

This was the best thing he could ever, would ever, get. "But…why? Why go through such trouble just for me?"

She waved her hand as if swatting a fly. "It was no trouble."

"Okay, but I still wanna know why."

"Because…," here she paused, "because I want to see you happy. That's all I ever want. I just want you to be…happy. Because I-"

Mush took a step toward her. "You what?" They were so close that he could easily pull her to him and kiss her.

She looked up into his big brown eyes and whispered, "Because I love you." The box clambered the the ground between their feet and without another moment of hesitation, he took her in his arms, placed his hands firmly on her back, and kissed her. He kissed her with so much passion and love he thought he would burn in it. She kissed back, arms slipping around his neck, urging them deeper into their kiss. At last it had come, what he'd been wanting for years.

They reluctantly broke apart. "I have always loved you," he whispered. "I wasn't sure about you at first."

"Neither was I. I think I've been in love with you since the first day we met."

He smiled. He finally had the girl and he finally got his new shoes with matching laces. They continued their kiss, letting people pass by and stare but he didn't care.

Right now, he was the king of New York.

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**AN: Yay! Chapter one complete! I'm actually really pleased with how this turned out. Let me know if you liked it too by leaving me a lovely (or bad, whatevs, I won't hate) review! Thanks so much!**


	2. Sheepshead Races

The Kings of New York

Chapter 2: Sheepshead Races

Dreamless-Mermaid

**AN: Woo woo, it's chapter dos! Hey all! Thanks for the love from chapter one. I was so excited and happy to upload something new. I remember the thrill of finding the alerts in my inbox. It takes me back to high school :D Anywho, keep 'em up and I shall keep delivering the chapters. More reviews will make my world go 'round. Onward!**

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_A permanent box at Sheepshead Races…_

Racetrack Higgins was bored. That's right, bored. The headline sucked. The weather sucked. There were no races today. He hadn't sold even half a stack of papes yet. Everything about this day just plain stunk. He sold at Sheepshead Bay for one reason. Okay, so maybe two. The customers were plentiful and he sometimes could sneak in to catch a race. However because of the rotten weather, the races were cancelled which meant no customers, which was why Racetrack was bored.

He sat on a wooden box underneath the awning that lead to the entrance of the building, his newspapers rolled up near his feet, a few playing cards spread out in front of him. He hated Solitaire but it was the only game he knew well enough to play by himself. He muttered curses under his breath every time a strong gust of wind blew by and scattered his cards. The steady rain came down around him and with each gray cloud, it darkened Racetrack's mood more and more.

"Still out here, kid?"

Racetrack glanced up from his game to see Mr. Hopkins, the track's general manager, leaning in the doorway. He was of average height with salt-and-pepper hair and a round belly. His smile was not unkind as he made his way toward the boy.

"Heya Hoppy, how's it rollin'?" Racetrack had always liked Mr. Hopkins. Out of every employee, the old man was the only one that ever showed any kindness to the newsie. Every once in a while on hot days, he would sneak him a lemonade or a pop. They frequently made small talk together when they weren't busy. One time Mr. Hopkins even let Racetrack inside the announcer's box to watch a race. "Want me ta deal ya in?"

Mr. Hopkins chuckled. "No thanks, I'm just here to check on you. Why don't you go on home? It's been raining for three days, the track's too muddy. We won't have any business for a while." His voice was a low baritone, gentle, almost fatherly.

"Whatcha talkin' 'bout? The weather's gorgeous!" At that moment the sky chose to respond with a loud crack of thunder.

Mr. Hopkins raised an eyebrow. "Go home, Racetrack."

"Nah, I think I'll stay. Who knows? It might clear up." He picked up his cards to shuffle them.

"I promise you it won't."

Racetrack shrugged. "Don't know that for sure."

"Race-"

"I can't go home yet, okay, Hoppy?" Racetrack snapped unexpectedly. "I ain't sold nothin' in three days so…I ain't got any money." He sighed exasperatedly. The rain had started when he woke up three days ago, and even then he had a gut feeling it was going to be a long week. On that first day he bought his usual one hundred papers, hoping and praying that the rain would let up soon. It didn't. He left that evening soaked to the bone with ninety five newspapers that he eventually had to trash because the water destroyed them. Day two he only bought sixty papers and came home with fifty eight. Day three was just as bad, having to discard forty nine out of fifty. Today marked day number four. Before he dragged himself to the tracks he read the report in the weather section that the rain wasn't likely to let up anytime soon. He thought surely twenty papers would be a good enough number. So far, he only sold five, all to track employees.

Mr. Hopkins put his hands in his pants pockets. He gazed at the boy who continued to effortlessly shuffle his playing cards. He knew how it felt to live every day with just enough or next to no money. In his younger days, his family wasn't financially well off, so he started working in a factory when he was just eight years old. Being the oldest of four, he and his younger siblings sometimes went for days without a decent meal. Although their situations were different, Mr. Hopkins recognized hard work when he saw it. Several times the old man offered the newsie a job at the tracks but he'd refused. He liked being able to come and go when he pleased, he didn't have to answer to anybody but himself, and he enjoyed the hustle and bustle when it was a clear day. Ah well, maybe someday.

"Hey, Marv!" A teenager, a few years older than Racetrack, came running over to Mr. Hopkins, waving a newspaper around in the air. "Marv! You'll never believe it!"

"What is it, Thomas?" Mr. Hopkins said. Thomas came skidding to a halt beside his boss and shook the paper in his face.

"Didja see the headline today? You know that old goat that owns the box, Mr. Sweetwater? He died this mornin'!" Thomas said excitedly.

"What?" Mr. Hopkins exclaimed.

"Yeah yeah, see it's right here." Mr. Hopkins grabbed the paper from the kid's hands. Sure enough, there was a huge article about the one and only Abraham Sweetwater, the candy maker from Manhattan. He owned Sweetwater and Sons candy shop in the city, Brooklyn, and Staten Island and needless to say, he was loaded. He was a frequent customer at the tracks and as such bought himself the only private box.

"Sonovabitch. Says here he died from a heart attack," Mr. Hopkins said. At this he looked up incredulously at a curious Racetrack. "And you didn't sell anything today?"

Racetrack shrugged. "Hey, you ain't got no business, remembah?"

"What's going to happen to the box?" Thomas said, ignoring Racetrack.

"A man has just died for chrissakes, Thomas, show a little compassion."

Thomas paused for a second, seeming to think this over. Although how he could even do that was beyond Racetrack, as he thought this kid was about as smart as a rock. "Okay, but, the box…?"

Mr. Hopkins sighed and shoved the paper back in Thomas' hands. "I don't know. Sell it to the next highest bidder, I guess."

"You could always hold a drawin'." Racetrack suggested. Mr. Hopkins cocked his head to one side.

"What do you mean?"

"Whoever wants to can put their name in a cup, and if they get picked, they get tha box."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!" Thomas laughed loudly.

"Quiet, Thomas. Go on, Race." Mr. Hopkins said.

The boy shrugged again. "That's all I got really. I just think it would be fair. That way everyone can have a chance at it."

"Hmmm. That sounds fair to me."

"Are you kidding?" Thomas barked. "Sheepshead will never go for that!" He was referring the the head honcho, the big boss. Sheepshead was not his real last name, of course, it was something simple like Monroe but everyone always made fun of him like that behind his back.

"You do realize that by everyone, I meant _everyone_? Even you?" Racetrack said to Thomas. The teenager abruptly stopped laughing and blinked. Racetrack could practically see the wheels trying, trying, and eventually turning in his head.

"Yeah. I knew that. I mean, of course, everyone."

Mr. Hopkins just gave him a half lidded stare. "Don't you have some sweeping to do?"

"On it boss." Thomas grinned, gave a salute, and scampered away. Mr. Hopkins sighed and shook his head.

"Was he dropped on his head as a baby or somethin'?" Racetrack jerked his chin after Thomas.

"Seems that way," Mr. Hopkins said. He turned back to the newsie. "Anyway, I'll talk to Luther and see what he says. I'm on board with this idea. I'd like to have someone in that box that's actually pleasant for once."

Racetrack chuckled. "I hear he was one tough old man."

"That's putting it nicely," he laughed. "You really should get on home now, Race. It's getting darker." Indeed since the two of them began their conversing had the sky grown to a very deep shade of gray, the rain still consistently pouring down.

"I'd love to, Hoppy, but I ain't got enough ta sleep tonight."

Mr. Hopkins spied the wadded up papers on the ground. "How many you got left?"

"'Bout fifteen."

The older man dug around in his pockets and dug out a good amount of coins and held them out to Racetrack. "Fifteen papers, please."

Racetrack's eyes widened as round as saucers. "What? You serious?" He almost dropped his cards. Almost.

"Yes. I've seen you out here for four days now. You deserve a break." Mr. Hopkins smiled warmly. Racetrack couldn't believe his good fortune. He knew there was another reason why he liked this man.

"Wow, thanks, Hoppy! Honest! Thanks!" Racetrack gushed gratefully. He didn't need to count them out, he knew just by eyeballing it that there would be enough. He quickly took the coins and shoved them in his own pockets. Then he bent down, picked up the slightly soggy newspapers, and handed them over. "I won't forget this! I promise!"

Mr. Hopkins smiled as he watched the boy run into the rain, waving behind him as he went. His heart filled with joy at being able to help out the diligent newsie that showed up every single day, no matter the weather. One time he even stayed during a snowstorm. He turned around to walk back inside the building. On the way in, he dropped the fifteen newspapers into a large trash bin.

* * *

Racetrack clambered into the lodging house and almost slipped on the tile floor in the foyer. He took off his cap to shake his hair out. As he tugged his shoes off he spotted many other pairs strewn all about the hallway. So the rest of the crew must be home as well, he thought. Every time it rained Kloppman demanded the boys take off their shoes, lest they muck up his perfectly spotless foyer, and wring their caps out by the fire, which was blazing merrily on the far side of the room. After he made his way there, he had just hung it on the grate to dry when he heard many sounds coming from the next room. He walked into the front room that had Kloppman's desk, a few large chairs and sofas, and a table or two, and found many of his friends lounging about.

"Hey fellas!" he called to them. They responded with a hearty hello.

"Hi mister," said a low voice from behind him. He turned to see his girlfriend Josephine there, a smile on her face. Her suspenders hung down around her waist, the top button on her shirt was undone, and her long brown hair was still slightly damp. "You look like somethin' tha cat dragged in."

"You have no idea. C'mere beautiful." Racetrack took her suspenders in his hands and used them to pull her to him. She giggled when he kissed her.

"I feel like I haven't seen ya in days."

"Well, ya really haven't. We don't sell near each other and you don't live here."

Josephine grinned. "Maybe we should fix that."

He laughed. "And risk givin' ol' Kloppy a heart attack? No thanks," he looked into her eyes, realizing how much he missed those beautiful blues. She sold on the other side of town in the theaters, vaudeville and the flickers. She also lived at an all girls boarding house even further away from her selling spot. More than once he pondered with the idea of asking Kloppman if she could live here but he knew himself too well and wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. Not that he wasn't doing a great job of that now. "Come upstairs, I got somethin' I wanna show ya."

"Sounds fun!" Josephine giggled again and she let him lead her up the stairs to the main room that he shared with the others. Snipeshooter, Boots, Jake, and Les were crouched in a corner together playing marbles. When Racetrack saw them he motioned for them to leave.

"Amscray ya worms."

On their way out, with much mumbling and cursing, Racetrack snagged the unlit cigar hanging from Snipeshooter's lips. The younger boy turned to protest but Racetrack just held up a threatening fist. Snipeshooter conceded and headed out of the bunk room post haste. The two young teens sat on the nearest bed. Racetrack wasted no time in producing the massive amount of coins from his pockets, spreading them out to be admired on top of the bed's blanket.

"Oh my God! How tha hell didja get all that?" Josephine exclaimed, but not without excitement. She picked through the money, separating quarters, pennies, and nickels. Racetrack dove into the story of what he'd been through during the last four days. "Mr. Hopkins gave ya this?"

"Yeah. Great man ain't he?"

When she sighed her cheeks puffed out, her eyes growing steadily wider as she gazed at the money. "I'll say," It's not like Racetrack had struck it rich but it was definitely more than he'd ever had before.

"And," he continued with bravado, "speakin' a great men, Sweetwater was a great man for kickin' tha bucket so that I could get a chance at his box." He rubbed his hands together vigorously.

Josephine quirked an eyebrow at him. "What do ya mean by that?" So he launched into yet another story about his suggestion to Mr. Hopkins and Thomas. While he would never admit this outloud to anyone else, the only reason he suggested a drawing in the first place was that so that he could have a shot at the box. He was never wealthy that much was clear, and probably never would be, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't immensely enjoy the shocked looks on every rich man's face if he _were_ to win the box. "Hm. Well it sounds like a good plan."

"Yeah, and hopefully Sheepshead thinks so too." Racetrack began to scoop up the coins and put them back in his pockets.

"Just don't forget about us little people when ya win." Josephine teased.

"Now who said anythin' 'bout forgettin' ya?" With the money safely tucked away he scooped the girl into his lap and stuck the cigar in his mouth. "You guys would be there wit me everyday!"

She laughed. "That's good ta know. Can't let tha fame get ta ya head." She kissed his forehead lightly.

Racetrack smiled against her throat. He removed the cigar from his mouth to plant a gentle kiss on her throat. "We still goin' out tonight?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Tha weather's been so ugly lately. I think I'd rather stay in and help ya count ya money again…Among other things…" she trailed away, smirking, playing with the buttons on his shirt. He laughed.

"That would be tha third best thing that's happened today." They stood up together and he led them to his bunk where they spent the remainder of their evening counting coins, imagining what life would be like in the box, and doing the _other things_ Josephine mentioned.

* * *

Friday morning arrived early and Racetrack rose in a particularly cheerful mood. For one thing there was sunshine streaming through the windows. Bright, glorious sunlight. He never thought he'd be so happy to see it. For another, he was eager to head to Sheepshead Bay and check up on the progress of the drawing and whether Mr. Hopkins had convinced his boss to let him hold one. The space next to him was empty, of course. Josephine had crept away last night just before the others came up to settle in. He hoped to run into her at the distribution center, maybe to convince her to come to the tracks with him.

He dressed quickly and sprinted down the stairs. When he made it outside the sun beamed down on him. The wonderful, wonderful ball of heat and light. Racetrack didn't think he could express anymore how glad he was that the rain finally ended. He took his time walking to the center to enjoy the morning. The streets were damp from the last four days, the birds chirped in the trees, a small breeze blew through the city. It was a perfect morning.

He came upon the distribution center but the gates were still closed. Several other newsies loitered around the entrance, some of whom Racetrack recognized from the strike the year prior. He struck up conversations with them but he was antsy to grab his papers and head for the tracks. He knew today would be a good day. Eventually Josephine, Bella, and the other boys rolled in, all still looking very sleepy. Just then the gates opened, the crowd gathered to form a single file line up the ramp to the office that was once Weasel's post.

"I can't believe ya still sellin' today after what ya got yesterday." Josephine teased, shaking her head. Racetrack smiled and took her hand.

"Of course I am! I gotta make up for tha others I had ta trash," he said. "Come wit me ta tha tracks."

"Hmmm, tempting, but I don't think I can. Sketch is still too new, she'd be lost without me." She was referring to her selling partner, Sketch. A small girl with wide green eyes and dirty blonde hair, she was given the nickname for constantly drawing on any surface with anything she could find.

"Well bring her along if ya want. I need my girl wit me today." Racetrack all but pleaded with her. She could never resist it when he turned on the charm. Just then a girl pushed her way through the line and almost landed on Josephine's feet. When she stood upright she looked immensely proud of herself. A little winded, but proud nonetheless. Josephine smiled.

"Hi, Sketch. Was wonderin' when you'd get here," she wrapped an arm around the other girl's shoulder. "This is Racetrack, and Race this is Sketch."

"Pleased ta meetcha." Sketch said brightly.

"Likewise," They did a spit shake in greeting. "I was just tellin' Joey how much she needs ta come ta tha tracks wit me. You up for it?"

Sketch's smile faltered a bit. "Oh but shouldn't we stay? Ms. Fitzgerald won't let us in tanight if we can't pay."

Racetrack waved that away. "Don't worry, I got ya covered."

Sketch was dubious and looked to her partner for confirmation. Josephine nodded, that it was okay if they skipped for just one day. Her face lit up once more. "Lead tha way."

"Atta girl!" Racetrack cheered. He picked up forty newspapers and the three of them jumped off the distribution platform, making their way into the heart of the city and eventually walking the route to Sheepshead Bay. On the way, Sketch opened up a newspaper to see a huge picture of the tracks with a bold headline of '**Sheepshead Bay Holds Drawing for Prime Box**'. There was a long article of Sweetwater's tragic passing, that there would be a drawing held at six o'clock that evening, and that every abled man could submit his name in the running from now until five o'clock. Racetrack whooped loudly. "He did it! He got tha old geezer ta say yes!"

"Wow, I can honestly say I'm surprised. I nevah thought tha old man would go for it." Josephine said earnestly.

"Am I missin' somethin'?" Sketch asked curiously. Josephine filled in her partner on the previous day's events. Sketch looked impressed. "Way ta go, Race."

"Thank ya, thank ya." He tipped his hat to them and grinned.

They reached the tracks just in time to find it rapidly filling with people. Word seemed to have spread quickly. He caught snippets of conversation as people passed him. Some could care less about the drawing. Others just wanted to bet and watch the horses now that the rain was finally done. They came to the long iron fence that shepherded customers to the building beyond and he stopped. "Girls, I'm gonna sell here. I don't think we'll be able ta fit through all 'dem people."

"That's okay. We can help." Sketch said. Race nodded his thanks and he split the papers in half to twenty and the girls split them up so they both could have ten. They sold steadily throughout the morning and as the day wore on, the amount of people grew. All three newsies sold out of their papers by the early afternoon so they decided to try and squeeze their way through the massive crowd. Racetrack wanted to make sure his name was in that bucket.

"Race! You made it!" Mr. Hopkins cried over the noise when he spotted the young boy. Racetrack waved and pulled the girls along. "Can you believe this?" The older man was grinning from ear to ear.

"Ya did good, Hoppy. Now hows about ya show me where I sign up?" He gave Mr. Hopkins a friendly pat on the back.

"Of course, right this way!" Racetrack could see that, for the first time in all the years that he's known him, this event was giving Mr. Hopkins a great deal of joy. He led the trio to a sort of wooden platform where a very large metal bucket stood on top. There was a short line to one side with men of all ages, and a few women too. They all held small, white pieces of paper. The rest of the crowd milled about, some probably waiting for six o'clock, others wandering around to watch the races. After Mr. Hopkins explained to Racetrack what to do, the young newsie scribbled his name onto a piece of paper, stood in line, and when it was finally his turn he said a little prayer and tossed the paper into the bucket with all the others.

"And now we wait." Racetrack muttered. He knew it was going to be a long shot, but oh wouldn't it just be the greatest thing in the world if _his_ name were pulled from that bucket?

He and the girls passed the time by watching races, sharing popcorn and sarsaparilla, and conversing with the other patrons. A lot of them had their sights set on that box. Racetrack supposed they'd been dreaming about it for as long as he had, possibly even longer. It was definitely a sight to be seen, the rich mingling with the lower class, with everyone's mind on one goal. Racetrack might even dare to say that it was pleasant. Joey met a well-to-do young lady who was there by herself, she couldn't have been more than seventeen. When Joey brought the girl over, who introduced herself as Charlotte, Racetrack could tell that she was more than a little nervous around the three newsies. Charlotte wasn't meaningfully rude per se but sometimes the things she said had a way of coming off as snobby and dramatic. She told them her story of how she came here, that it was her dying father's wish to sit in the box just once before he passes. Her family was well off, she was raised among upstanding citizens, but they could never afford such an extravagance like this. So Charlotte steeled herself and stepped out into the world unaccompanied to make her father's dream come true (as she told it.)

_It's a shame that when all this ends, things'll go back like they used ta,_ Racetrack thought. He knew they would probably never see Charlotte again, she'd be with people like her, like the Sweetwaters'. _Speaking of which, here come some now._

It was like the Red Sea parting down the middle and from it sauntered three young men, all ranging between ages eighteen, twenty one, and twenty five. Racetrack recognized them instantly as the late entrepreneur's sons, from their finely pressed suits to their pointed noses stuck up in the air. The oldest was Augustus, the middle was Amos, and the youngest was Alexander. All three strode purposely toward the platform while ignoring the stares they received from the crowd.

"Marvin! Marvin Hopkins!" Augustus called out above the noise. Racetrack swiveled his head all around looking for his friend. What did these hoity-toity rich guys want with Hoppy? The older man squeezed through the patrons upon hearing his summons. Once he recognized who was before him, Mr. Hopkins' face went stony and he proceeded to the platform.

"Hello boys. What can I do for you?" Mr. Hopkins said, his back straight with arms crossed in front. Racetrack could see from his expression that he was not at all happy to see the young socialites.

"We are here to discuss the terms of Father's private box." Augustus replied.

"Well I'm afraid you're a little too late. The drawing will be held in about an hour and after that you'll have to take it up with the new owner."

"I told you we should have been here sooner." Alexander shot at his brother.

"Quiet, Alex," Augustus said. The youngest brother rolled his green eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the base of the wooden platform, as if indifferent to this whole situation. "Mr. Hopkins I can offer you quite a bit of money for your trouble-"

"Save it, Augustus. I don't want or need your money. If you want that box you'll have to participate just like everybody else."

"That box belongs to us and you know it. What has Sheepshead said about this?" Amos said, narrowing his cold blue eyes.

"He's the one that approved it," Mr. Hopkins said a little smugly and was pleased to see the three boys faces register surprise. "Abraham Sweetwater never signed any sort of contract nor was he foolish enough to bequeath the box along to you in the event of his death. He bought it fair and square and now one lucky person, whether it be a millionaire or a regular joe, will own it. So I suggest you boys get in the back of the line and start praying because this is the only way you will get it back."

There was stunned silence by the small crowd. Augustus, standing tall with blue eyes glaring, took in a deep breath, raised his chin even higher, and turned to his brothers. "Come along, Alex, Amos. We have a drawing to win."

Alexander pushed himself up to follow his brothers to the seemingly never ending line. Once they passed Mr. Hopkins, Racetrack rushed up to his friend with a look of incredulity. "Awright, who are ya and what have ya done wit Hoppy? That was amazin'! I nevah knew ya had it in ya."

"I've wanted to give those snobs a piece of my mind for years. Alexander isn't so bad but the other two, Amos and Augustus, are just downright rude. Seems they inherited that from their father." Mr. Hopkins admitted. They walked back to the girls, Mr. Hopkins receiving smiles and cheers on the way.

The fateful hour was almost upon the crowd now. The energy buzzed around Racetrack, his own nerves starting to rattle him and it showed through his shaking hands and constant fidgeting. He calmed slightly when Josephine took his hand, even more so when she gave him a good luck kiss. At five minutes to six a handful of familiar faces appeared before Racetrack, Josephine, Sketch, and Charlotte. All of the newsies barreled through the crowd, laughing and talking loudly. Racetrack was honestly surprised to see them.

"Ya didn't think we'd let ya have all the glory if ya won, didja?" Jack said.

"What he means is that we wanted to be here to support you. Not be moochers." David clarified as he jokingly punched Jack in the shoulder. Racetrack laughed.

"Thanks fellas, that means a lot ta me." He then went on to introduce Sketch and Charlotte to his friends. Finally after the agonizing hours ticked by it was time. The crowd's volume inched higher when they were all realizing what was coming. Two men lumbered to the makeshift platform, one of them Mr. Hopkins, the other a man much older. Thin, balding, spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, Racetrack recognized him as Sheepshead himself, old Luther Monroe. On the rare occasions Racetrack was able to get a glimpse of him he always had a scowl fixed to his face and stooped over. Today was no different but there was a small change about his features, something like excitement in his eyes. One by one every single person at Sheepshead Bay became quiet. Even the customers who were only there to watch the races stopped in mid conversation.

Mr. Hopkins smiled before he spoke as loud as he could, "Thank you all for being here today. I know you folks are impatient so I won't waste your time with a long winded speech. Let it be known that from this day forth, whosoever owns this box shall keep it for life. This is a one time drawing so in the future he may sell it or have the necessary papers arranged to pass it along to someone else." Some people were nodding their heads in agreement while others leaned toward their companions, whispering and shaking their heads. _This is why none of 'dem kids got tha box,_ Racetrack thought._ Sweetwater died suddenly an' he never made no papes for it._

"Now I will pick one name and one name only," Mr. Hopkins continued. "When you are called please come to the front so we can congratulate you and have your picture taken for the newspaper," he indicated a few journalists on his right. All of them had their cameras set up. "I shall begin. Good luck to you all!"

Not one soul made a sound as Marvin Hopkins shuffled to the pot with hundreds of white pieces of paper. He made a good show of mixing them together like one tossed a salad. Racetrack's heartbeat increased, the blood pounding in his ears. His stomach twisted into knots. As his friend finally pulled out that fateful paper he drew a sharp intake of breath, grabbed Josephine's hand, and prayed with all his might.

"Our winner is…," Hopkins paused. He smiled and laughed as he read the name before he announced it. How wonderful, he thought. "Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins!"

The newsies erupted into tumultuous cheering. Racetrack himself stood dumbfounded in shock. He won? HE won?! Out of every hopeful person here it had been he, Racetrack, whose name had been pulled? This didn't seem real. He saw his friends around him, he saw everyone else's gazes directed at him, and only did he snap out of it as Josephine was pulling him to the front.

"Race you did it! You got it!" she was saying to him, her face broken out in a huge smile.

"Yeah…Yeah, it's me!" He heard clapping coming from the rest of the crowd but none as loud as those of his friends. When he and Josephine were nearly there he was bumped hard in the shoulder. Racetrack gripped it with his free hand and was about to shoot off an insult when he caught the coldest glares from Augustus and Amos. They didn't say a word but slunk away through the throng of people. Alexander, however, stepped right up to Racetrack and held out his hand.

"Congratulations," he said cordially. The two shook hands and then, while still linked, he leaned in and muttered, "I'm glad you won. I never liked that thing anyway. Enjoy it."

Racetrack smirked. "Oh I will. Thank you." That was that. Alexander winked and walked away toward his brothers. Soon after he was ushered on the platform where Mr. Hopkins stood waiting, smiling warmly.

"I can't believe it. Of all the luck," He chuckled. Racetrack laughed too.

"Yeah! Who knew?"

"You've earned it kid." Mr. Hopkins pulled Racetrack in for a quick hug, something which surprised the boy but was not uncomfortable by it. After that he received more congratulations from Luther and all of the journalists that had been taking many pictures. Josephine kissed her boyfriend on the cheek.

"So, tell me we're gonna celebrate tanight." Josephine said. He laughed and put his arm around her.

"We are gonna have tha biggest party you evah seen. Cuz dollface," he turned to face the lights of the flashbulbs. He knew his face would be all over every single newspaper in the morning. As he once said, if you're in the papes you're famous. You can have anything you want. Well Racetrack wondered how many of his friends could fit in the box. Or if he could request never ending sarsaparilla and popcorn. Or if he'd get invited to a few celebrity parties. The point is he knew his life would change drastically, even if it only lasted for a few weeks and the fame wore off. It would be an unforgettable few weeks. "Aftah taday, I'll be tha king of New York."

* * *

**AN: OMG THIS TOOK FOREVER I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME. Seriously, I'm really sorry. After I posted chapter one there was the Olympics and then I went to California for my cousin's wedding and I bought a new car and got writer's block or was too sleepy in between. So I will give you all a forewarning now that chapter three will probably take the same amount of time. Just saying :D Anyway, huzzah for cheesy endings! Spoiler alert: I think I want to end all of these chapters with that phrase. Just because it seems to fit. This was so much fun to write. I love making new characters. Charlotte and Alexander were my favorites in this one. They may or may not be reappearing but they'll be on the side in case I need them. **

**So what did you all think? I'm pretty sure that ownership of private boxes consists of monthly or yearly fees and stuff like that but I didn't mention that because it wouldn't have been as much fun for Racetrack. Anything you would like to share please tell me! Thank you!**

**Shout outs:**

**BritishIsBetter639: Thank you so much! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! ^_^**

**Joker is Poker with a J: Oh my, I've updated! Haha yeah I'm almost in my mid twenties and I'm still writing fan fiction. I also still love all things nerdy, Newsies included. Hehe thanks, I love that line too. It felt like the right thing they would say to each other, just being silly. I love giving Skittery his one time in the spotlight! I've done it in the past, like he's said a great one liner. He's good at those. I'm so glad you liked it, thank you so much!**

**Spot's Gal: Awww! *^_^* You're so sweet! Thank you! Although if I were to ever publish anything it would take so long to write because I don't do it like I did in high school. I'm an adult now with adult social things to do and a big kid job, haha. I feel like Mush hardly ever gets super mad about anything but you're right, in this instance he definitely should have been super pissed than how I portrayed him. But I got the point across! Haha. Thank you again!**

**Up next is Spot's chapter and I have NO IDEA what to write about….I'm sure I'll think of something but for now I'm stuck. Humph. Not fun. **

**Anyway, please review my pretties! Thank you all! **


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